


Kings & Warriors

by jooliewrites



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Bodyguard, Kings & Queens, M/M, Protective Connor, Protective Oliver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 09:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4386722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor shifts in his throne and gives his advisor, Wes, a withering glance. “How many more?”</p>
<p>Wes glances up, to watch the guard bring in the latest offender. “I do believe this is the last prisoner for the day, Your Majesty,” Wes informs him. </p>
<p>Connor opens his mouth to respond with some pithy remark when he glances up to get a good look at the prisoner. It’s - but it can’t be. “You!”</p>
<p>+</p>
<p>A Coliver Historical AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally Posted on Tumblr

Connor shifts in his throne and gives his advisor, Wes, a withering glance. “How many more?”

He hates judgment days. Having so many humble peasants brought before him in chains - many over minor offenses - waiting for him to hand out punishments, angers and frustrates him.

Wes glances up, to watch the guard bring in the latest offender. Not for the first time today, Connor is thankful that Wes is with him today. He does not voice objection when Connor lets most of these ‘criminals’ walk free; the same cannot be said for all the members of the high council.

“I do believe this is the last prisoner for the day, Your Majesty,” Wes informs him.

Connor opens his mouth to respond with some pithy remark when he glances up to get a good look at the prisoner. It’s - but it can’t be. “You!”

“Why, hello, Your Majesty,” the prisoner greets with a small smile.

“You’re supposed to kneel,’” the guard says, taking a spear and striking it against the back of the prisoner’s knees.

The prisoner falls down hard, his knees hitting the stone floor with a resounding crack, then topples over to slam down hard on his side. His arms, bound in shackles behind his back, are unable to brace him for the fall.

“Good to know,” the prisoner mumbles, trying to push himself back up using his shoulder.

“Leave us!” Connor commands, rising from his throne and walking swiftly down the dais.

“Your Majesty!” Lord Wes objects.

“Leave us!” Connor yells, the shout echoing off the vaulted ceiling and carved rafters of the throne room.

He reaches out to yank the key ring from the guard’s belt before shoving the man away. Connor watches the guard marching quickly away and the massive door is pulled shut after the guard walks out. Connor glances over his shoulder to verify Wes disappeared through one of the side doors before dropping down to his knees.

He reaches over to gently pull the other man up and into his embrace. Connor brushes the think tangle of hair out of his eyes with gentle fingertips. “Oli - Oliver?”

Oliver smiles but it’s humorless. “You remembered.”

“Oliver.” Connor rubs a thumb over Oliver’s cheek, smearing the dirt, before remembering. He moves quickly behind and his hands shake as he unlocks the shackles.

“They said you -” Connor swallows down the burn of tears. This cannot be happening. Not now. Not after all this time.

Oliver groans once his wrists are free. He shifts to sit and stretch his legs out in front of him. Connor moves and bends one of his knees for Oliver to lightly rest his back against.

“What did they say?” Oliver asks, his tone is flippant, dismissive until he glances up from rubbing his wrist to see all the color’s drained from Connor’s face. “Connor? What did they say?”

“They told me you died.” The words are whispered and hollow. Connor staring, unblinking, at Oliver’s chest as it rises and falls with each breath.

Connor’s hand trembles when he lifts it and picks at the laces of Oliver’s tunic. He peels away the coarse fabric to reveal a massive scar on Oliver’s chest. Light fingertips trace the rough flesh before Oliver reaches up to press Connor’s hand flat against the scar and hold it close. Connor lets out a half-sob at feeling Oliver’s strong heartbeat against his palm.

“The assassination attempt,” Connor says shakily. “They said the wound was too severe. Too deep.” Connor shakes his head, remembering bits and pieces of that terrible day. The raw grief had crippled him, leaving much of that period of time blank in his memory. “They wouldn’t let me see you. They didn’t - I didn’t get to bury you. I thought-”

Connor’s composure breaks with a sob and Oliver pulls him in. Connor wraps his arms around Oliver, fingers gripping the coarse fabric of Oliver’s tunic hard enough to rip the garment in two. Face pressed into the hollow of Oliver’s throat, breathing in the sweet scent of Oliver’s sweat and reveling in the beat of a pulse against his lips.

“I was told you no longer needed me in service,” Oliver tells him after Connor’s calmed a little. “That you no longer had a need for a bodyguard who allowed an assassin to get so close.”

Connor pulls back still wrapped in Oliver’s embrace but able to meet his gaze. “You had to know that wasn’t true.”

Oliver nods. “I didn’t believe it. I demanded to see you. When my protests became too - too _forceful_ –” Oliver trails off with a shrug.

“What does that mean?” Connor demands, a cold shiver runs down his spine.

There are other scars on Oliver that Connor doesn’t remember being there before. A jagged, white line running from an eyebrow down to the corner of his eye. A perfect circle burned into his collarbone. What other marks now mar Oliver’s skin? What else was done to him in the name of separating them?

Oliver just shakes his head. “This is not the place.”

Connor simply nods and Oliver pulls him back in close. How long they sit there, on the cool stone floor of the throne room, Connor has no idea. He would be content to sit there, the two of them wrapped in each other and simply breathing the other in, until the end of his days.

“You know I did not mean it,” Oliver whispers.

“Mean what?”

“To let him get so close to you.” The words are slow and deliberate. As if Oliver’s rehearsed this speech time and time again. As if this one thought has plagued him day and night for all these long months. “It was never my intent to let someone get so close to you.”

Connor sits up and he squeezes Oliver’s hands in his. “I know.”

Oliver shakes his head, tears in his eyes. “You were smiling. You had turned to smile at me and – and I let myself get distracted. The next thing I saw was the glint of the blade in his hand and he was close enough to almost reach your robe. I just – I forgot my training. I forgot everything. I just-”

“You stepped between,” Connor finishes for him. He remembers the way Oliver’s body jerked when the dagger hit flesh. He remembers Oliver collapsing in his arms, Oliver’s hand lifting to cup his cheek, Oliver trying to say his name before the pain and blood loss caused him to faint. Connor shakes his head, attempting to banish the memories. “You shouldn’t have done that. You should have –”

“I did what I was supposed to do.”

Connor shakes his head again. “You should have—”

“I was supposed to stand aside and let you get—”

“Yes!” Connor explodes. “Yes. You weren’t supposed to get hurt. You were—”

“I was part of your protection!” Oliver yells back. “We stand in front—”

“Not you.” Connor shakes his head frantically. His fingers curling tight in Oliver’s tunic and shaking hard. “The others –I don’t – You! – I can’t without _you_ , Oliver. I just can’t. I can’t. I can’t. Don’t—don’t—”

Connor lifts a hand to cup Oliver’s cheek and kisses him with trembling lips. Oliver tries to soothe Connor with a steading hand at the back of his neck but Connor’s shaking gets worse and their next kiss breaks with Connor’s sob.

“Don’t –don’t make me,” Connor repeats over and over again against Oliver’s skin when Oliver pulls him in.

Oliver’s arms around Connor tighten and he rocks them a little as Connor’s shaking worsens. He shifts to lay them down flat against the stone and gets almost on top of Connor, letting the grounding weight of his body pressing Connor’s into the stone soothe where words cannot.

After some time has passed, Connor tugs lightly on Oliver’s hair and Oliver lifts his head.

“Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me ever again,” Connor begs.

Oliver looks down at this beautiful man, this _king_. This man who, out of anyone in the realm, choose to love him.

“I won’t,” Oliver vows. “Never again.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally Posted on Tumblr

Hours later, they are tangled up together in Connor’s bed, the chamber ablaze with the light of dozens of thick, tallow candles and a fire burning high in the grate.

Connor cards a hand through the Oliver’s thick hair, his tresses still damp from the bath, and watches shadows from the candles dance on the expanse of Oliver’s back while he dozes, pressed close to Connor’s side.

“I like your hair,” Connor mumbles as the strands slip through his fingers.

Oliver lifts his chin and blinks up at Connor like an owl. “What?”

“Your hair,” Connor repeats, curling a piece around his forefinger. “It’s longer than before. I like it.”

“You’re the only one then,” Oliver says, dismissive and drowsy, as he burrows himself deeper back into Connor’s side. He had almost been asleep before this ridiculous discussion about hair of all things. “I’m cutting it in the morning.”

“But you can’t,” Connor protests.

Oliver lifts his head again to give a pointed look and cocks an eyebrow. “I _can’t_.”

“That’s right. You can’t.” Connor is undeterred and bites back a grin. He had almost forgotten how easy Oliver made it sometimes. “I’m the King. I order you not to cut your hair.”

“You _order_ me.”

Oliver kneels up at that, all traces of sleep gone. His expression has gone hard and flat and Connor tries to quell the beat of excitement that rushes through him. That is Oliver’s warrior look and it never fails to give Connor an unexpected thrill, a curl of heat in his stomach. “You forget yourself, good King. You do not give me orders.”

Connor licks his lips and props himself up on his elbows. “You swore an oath to obey.”

Oliver shakes his head. “I am a knight of the Imperial Guard. The Guard makes no vow of obedience.”

“Well they—” Connor begins.

“As one of the Imperial Guard, I vow to live by honor and for glory. To all peoples of this realm, I pledge courage and protection. May my conviction always be just,” Oliver recites, kissing up Connor’s chest and pressing him deeper into the bedclothes as he does. “To all knights I serve beside, I pledge loyalty and fraternity. May my blade always be true.” Oliver lifts himself up on his elbow and smiles down at Connor, the candlelight twinkling in his eyes. He brushes a strand of hair off Connor’s forehead and continues with reverence. “And to my lord, His Majesty the King, I pledge my all. My fidelity and devotion ever more. My breath for yours. My blood for yours. My life for yours. This, I pledge ever more.”

Connor swallows down a lump in his throat and blinks at the burning behind his eyes. He all too familiar with of the vow the Imperial Guard and knows what their foolhardy pledge almost cost him.

“I don’t like that last bit.” His voice quivers but he doesn’t make any attempt to mask his emotion. Not here, not with Oliver.

“The last bit is the most important,” Oliver gently says. When Connor just shakes his head, Oliver continues. “Your protection is the purpose of the unit. We—”

“I know,” Connor cuts him off. “I know. I—I just don’t like it.”

They gaze into each other’s eyes, a dozen emotions passing between them. The hand Connor’s reaches up to pull Oliver down trembles and the breath let out against Oliver’s neck shakes. There is plenty knows he should say but everything rushing through his head seems too dark or too heavy or simply too much for tonight.

This night – Oliver being back, the two of them wrapped up in each other again – all of it seems so fragile. Connor’s afraid to tip the scale too much in either direction.

With is face tucked into the curve of Oliver’s shoulder, Connor lightly whispers, “I still don’t want you to cut your hair.”

Oliver stifles a laugh, cups Connor’s cheek and leans close for a kiss that lingers. “I don’t understand the appeal,” Oliver murmurs against Connor’s lips. “I look unkempt.”

Connor shakes his head. “You look handsome,” he corrects.

“Dirty.”

“Rugged.”

“Ghastly.”

“Wild,” Connor insists with awe. “You look wild, Oliver.” Connor brushes a tangle of Oliver’s hair behind his ear. “Nothing like that stoic soldier all those years ago.”

This time, when their eyes met, memories filter between them.

“You were so formal,” Connor remembers.

“You were so arrogant.” Oliver half smiles at a dozen memories of the antics of the foolish prince he’d been charged to protect all those years ago.

Connor smiles, and for the first time since Oliver’s return it looks carefree. “You always got so mad when I went to visit the gardens.”

“You weren’t visiting the gardens, Connor,” Oliver lightly scolds. “You were hiding from me.”

“That may be true,” Connor concedes. “But you did always find me.”

“I always will.” Oliver prompts himself up on his elbow again and cups Connor’s cheek. “Who ever would have thought?” he murmurs in disbelief, his thumb tenderly running along Connor’s jaw. “My King.”

Connor tangles his hand in Oliver’s hair to pull him down. “My Warrior.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com)


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